Page 11

11

Stellan

I’m standing in front of a microphone, trying to answer questions about the game, my performance, and the upcoming match, but my mind keeps drifting back to Fiona. The way she looked at me when I went to her place last night, her eyes filled with doubt, a mix of frustration and uncertainty. I hate that I left things on that note. I should’ve fought harder to get her to understand that I’m not playing her. I’m not just some guy using her to clean up my image.

I’ve been thinking about nothing else since I walked away from her apartment. I’m done pretending. I’m done with this whole media act that feels more like a lie with every passing day. I want her. And I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it.

The interview is dragging on, but my answers are all rehearsed, generic. The media loves to focus on everything but the game. I can feel the weight of their questions about the so-called relationship between me and Fiona.

"So, Stellan," the reporter asks, "we’ve all seen the pictures of you and Fiona Green. It looks like the two of you are quite the couple. How do you really feel about her?"

I try not to let the smile that’s tugging at my lips show, but I can’t help it. The truth comes out before I even think about it. “I like her. A lot.” I pause, my eyes focused on the reporter. “She’s smart, she’s strong, and she’s been through a lot. I respect her more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

I can feel the room shift, the cameras clicking faster, capturing the change in my expression. I didn’t plan to say that much, but I mean every damn word of it. I’m not faking this. Not anymore. This is real.

Another reporter chimes in. “Is it true that your relationship with Fiona started as a PR stunt?”

I nod, leaning in slightly, my voice firm. “It’s real, and it’ll always be real.”

The room goes quiet for a second as the reporters scribble notes, their eyes narrowing, clearly picking up on something they weren’t expecting. I can almost hear their thoughts. Is he serious?

I am. I’m more serious than I’ve ever been about anything in my life.

The interview wraps up quickly after that, and I make my way off the stage, my mind still focused on Fiona. I’m not sure how to get through to her. She’s so guarded, and I understand why—she’s been burned before. But I’m not the guy she thinks I am. I’ll prove that to her.

As I’m heading to the locker room, Coach Phillips stops me. “Stellan, we’ve got something planned for you and Fiona.” His tone is serious, but there’s a hint of something else—an unspoken agenda, probably a push to make the media buzz even more about the so-called couple. “The owner wants you two to take part in a public outing this weekend. A little getaway. A ‘show of solidarity’ or whatever the hell they’re calling it.”

I raise an eyebrow, not sure what to make of it. “A getaway? You mean like an overnight thing?”

“Exactly,” he says, smirking. “It’ll be good for both of you. Show everyone that you’re not just faking it. Besides, Fiona’s father is on board. He thinks it’ll help with the press. It’s a win-win.”

I don’t know how to feel about it. On one hand, it’s a chance to prove to everyone that what’s between me and Fiona is real, but on the other, it feels like we’re being set up for some kind of performance. Still, if it gets me closer to her, I’ll do it. I’ll take whatever chance I can get.

“I’ll do it,” I say, my voice steady. “I want to show her I’m serious about this. About us .”

Coach nods, his approval obvious. “Good. Just keep it clean, Stellan. We don’t need any more drama.”

“Don’t worry,” I say with a grin. “No drama. Just a weekend to prove to Fiona how much I care.”

Later that evening, I’m sitting in my car, staring at my phone. The text I sent her this morning is still unread. I know she saw it—hell, I know she’s seen every one of my texts—but she hasn’t responded. I want to text her again, ask her to meet me, but I know that would only push her further away. So, instead, I take a deep breath and get out of the car, walking up to her brownstone.

When I knock on the door, I can feel my nerves kicking in. I’ve been through countless interviews, intense games, and I’ve faced down bigger challenges than this, but nothing feels quite as important as this moment. I just want her to see me for who I really am.

The door opens, and there she is. Her hair is slightly tousled, and she looks tired, but still beautiful in that effortlessly perfect way of hers. She stands in the doorway for a moment, not saying anything, just studying me with those guarded eyes.

“You came,” she says, her voice neutral, but I can hear the edge of something else in it—uncertainty, maybe even a little annoyance.

“Yeah, I came,” I say, trying to keep my voice light. “I just wanted to talk.”

Her eyes flick to the side for a moment, like she’s debating whether or not to invite me in. I can tell she’s still skeptical, still unsure. And honestly, I get it. I’ve given her every reason to doubt me. But tonight, I’m not backing down.

“I’ve been thinking about everything,” I say, stepping a little closer, but still giving her space. “About you. About what we’re doing. And I want you to know—I’m not faking any of it. I’m not playing you. This—what we have—it’s real. And I want to prove that to you. I want to show you that I care. I’m not going anywhere, Fiona.”

She stands there, silent for a long moment, her arms crossed. I can see the walls she’s built around herself, the ones that she’s clearly not ready to tear down.

“You think it’s that easy?” she says, her voice low but sharp. “Just because you show up at my door and say that doesn’t mean I’m going to believe you, Stellan.”

I nod, understanding her skepticism. “I know it’s not easy. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes. If I have to spend the rest of my life showing you that I’m not the guy you think I am, then I’ll do it.”

She looks at me for a moment longer, her eyes searching my face for something—maybe for a sign that I’m telling the truth, maybe for a hint of doubt. And in that silence, I realize that this isn’t just about proving it to her with words. It’s about proving it with my actions.

“I’m not asking for anything,” I say, my voice softer now. “I’m just asking for a chance to show you what I’m really capable of. You can decide if you want to take that chance.”

She exhales slowly, letting the tension in her body ease, but her expression is still hard. She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but finally, she steps aside, just slightly.

“Alright,” she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Come in.”

As I step into her apartment, I feel a sense of relief flood over me. I know it’s just the beginning, but it’s a start. And that’s all I need.

Now I just have to prove to her that I’m not going anywhere.